All Gave Some. Some Gave All.

We didn't do our traditional observation of Memorial Day this year. Let's just say parenthood can get very icky at times. When the kids are feeling well enough to have a decent attention span we'll have a late observance with a reading of the Gettysburg Address.

My family has been lucky enough to avoid having any war casualties. My father did a hitch in the Air Force, in Germany, getting out in 1964 before things heated up. His father was too old for WWII but he had an uncle who served in artillery, returning intact. My mother had an uncle who served in the Irish War for Independence. Apparently in some unheroic rear-echelon function, but this account is biased by the fact he got the farm and my grandfather (who'd kept it running during the war) wound up in America. In short, my stint as the ultimate REMF during the Gulf War seems to be in our tradition. The recent tradition, that is. My great-great-grandfather was wounded at 2nd Fair Oaks in the Civil War but came home to marry and raise a family. Other than him what we've given has been at the lower end of "some." I don't feel any shame in it. The troops on the sharp edge need to have the best, and that means a whole bunch of guys in the rear moving it forward. But there's a reason the glory goes to those in the combat zone.

"Some gave all." Because them I grew up in a country that was safe and free, and my children will as well.